


one foot in front of the other

by ednae



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Ice Skating, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ednae/pseuds/ednae
Summary: A chill runs down Mitsuki’s spine, and he regrets, for about the ten thousandth time, that he didn’t bring a warmer jacket.





	one foot in front of the other

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self indulgent bullshit i've written in my life please enjoy it

A chill runs down Mitsuki’s spine, and he regrets, for about the ten thousandth time, that he didn’t bring a warmer jacket.

“Are you cold?” Gaku asks, staring down the bridge of his nose at him. He’s skating backward like a showoff, holding onto Nagi’s hand not to keep balance, but because they’re the only two of them who can actually stay upright while ice skating.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Mitsuki grumbles, grimacing at his visible breath as he talks. It’s way too cold in this ice rink, and it doesn’t help that he has to cling to the frigid wall with his bare hands to keep from falling on his ass.

At least he hasn’t fallen as many times as Yamato has. But that probably has more to do with his stubbornness and refusal to ask for any help than his inherent lack of skill.

“Oh, but you’re shivering, Mitsuki!” Nagi points out, letting go of Gaku to gesture toward him with his gloved hands. Mitsuki would love to hold them, both because they’re dating and it’s cute to hold hands with your boyfriends, and because his fingers are numb and he could really use something to thaw them out. But Gaku and Nagi have already laughed at him and Yamato one too many times and now they’re on strike.

So in solidarity with the only other person here who has never set foot (or blade) on an ice rink before, Mitsuki grabs Yamato’s hand, also thankfully gloved, and turns up his nose at the other two. “I’m fine,” he repeats, breathing a little easier now that Yamato’s warm hand is wrapped around his.

Yamato laughs. It’s a nice laugh, like it usually is, but there’s a hint of disbelief and mockery in it that has Mitsuki’s blood running even colder than it already is. “Mitsu, you’re shivering. You should have at least brought gloves.”

He knows he’s pouting, he knows he looks like an angry child, but he can’t help it. “I forgot them at home.”

“Your jacket’s so light, too,” Yamato adds, picking at the sleeves.

“We’re exercising! I thought the activity would warm me up,” Mitsuki protests adamantly. If he could lift his foot without falling, he’d stomp it on the ice right now. Thankfully, his circumstances have made it harder to look even _more_ petulant.

Gaku shakes his head. “No, see, you might get warmer if you’re doing the fancy tricks professionals do, but you’ve been standing in the same spot for the last five minutes.”

He has a point, and Mitsuki hates to admit that he has a point. “I’ve never been ice skating before.”

“We know that,” Nagi says seriously, even though a teasing smile plays at his lips. To make matters worse, he grabs Gaku’s hand again and kicks off on his ice skates, leading them both in a wide arc around Mitsuki and Yamato before rounding back to them. “You should have heeded our warnings.”

“You’re so full of it,” Mitsuki grumbles under his breath.

“Don’t go ganging up on Mitsu,” Yamato warns, clinging to Mitsuki for support while trying his best to look nonchalant.

“Then should we gang up on you?” Gaku asks, clapping a hand on Yamato’s shoulder, hard enough that he’s sent off balance and falling backward into Gaku’s chest, taking Mitsuki with him.

“Wah—!”

And yet somehow, miraculously, Gaku manages to keep his balance on this goddamn sheet of ice and catch them both. What a man.

“Not fair, you did that on purpose,” Yamato complains. His glasses are skewed and his hair is disheveled, and he looks about six years younger.

Gaku laughs wholeheartedly. “But I caught you, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t make up for my wounded ego.” His skates slip and slide under him until he’s able to find some kind of footing and stand. Gaku, the saint, keeps his arm steadily around Yamato’s waist until he’s upright. His other arm is still around Mitsuki even after he’s found his own balance, hand just a little too low to be innocent.

“You can… let go now, Gaku,” Mitsuki says, wobbling as he tries to pull himself free. Sure, he’s sexy and cool, but he’s still on strike and that means he’s not going to accept affection from either Gaku or Nagi until they stop making fun of him.

“I’ll let go when you can stand on your own.” To prove his point, he moves his hand away from Mitsuki’s waist, only to press it to his mouth to hold in a chuckle when Mitsuki’s skates fall out from under him and he hits the ice, _hard._

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Yaotome Gaku!”

“Can I laugh at you?” Nagi asks, already giggling into his gloves. His cheeks are pink from both the cold and his excitement, and Mitsuki would think it’s cute if it weren’t at his expense.

“No!”

“Come on, Mitsu.” Yamato extends his hand down for him to grab, and Mitsuki takes it gratefully, pulling himself up. “We don’t need this kind of toxicity in our lives.”

“Wait—!” Gaku breaks off when the laugh finally slips through, his face splitting in a smile as he reaches out to grab at the hems of both their jackets. “D–don’t go, I’m sorry.”

Yamato stares, mouth pursed in a thin line. “I’m sure you mean that.”

“I do!” Gaku insists.

“I apologize, as well.” Nagi’s eyes are wide, but his hand is still pressed to his mouth to hide his smile. “We shouldn’t tease our boyfriends… even if they are terrible at ice skating.”

“That’s it—I’ve had enough.” Yamato whips around dramatically, pulling Mitsuki behind him and nearly falling yet again in the process. That would have made a _great_ exit, Mitsuki thinks bitterly, but luckily they’re able to stay upright as Yamato pulls them along the outskirts of the rink, one hand clinging tight to the wall, the other firmly around Mitsuki’s.

Mitsuki glances behind him to make sure Gaku and Nagi haven’t followed them, and is both pleased and annoyed to find that they’ve given up trying to help and have resorted to taking a lap around the ice, hand in hand. Nagi’s turned around, skating backwards with his arms outstretched, holding onto Gaku tightly as they swerve, spin, and glide around the center. If Mitsuki wasn’t burning with jealousy, he’d admit out loud that they look really cool.

As it is, though, he only admits it to himself.

“They left us,” Mitsuki laments, still clinging to Yamato as they make their way around the edge.

“They’re dumbasses, so it’s to be expected,” Yamato says. “But by the time we get through this hell, we’ll show them that they don’t need to coddle us, anyway.”

Mitsuki raises his eyebrows, taken aback. “Do you really think you’re gonna be able to skate by the end of this date?”

Yamato falters. “Well. Uh. It would be ideal.”

 _“You_ and _ideals_ don’t really go well together.”

“That’s just because I’m more of a realist.” Yamato huffs, his breath visible in the air.

Mitsuki hums and squeezes Yamato’s hand playfully. “Is that what it is.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Yamato confirms with an ardent nod. He glances over to him once, wavering suddenly now that his eyes aren’t locked on his feet and stumbling just a bit before he corrects himself. “Are you sure you’re not cold?”

Of course he’s cold. He’s freezing. He feels like he’s going to die. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not cold, old man? Are you losing your hearing in your old age?”

Yamato chuckles, his mouth turning up at the corners. “Mitsu’s pretty manly, so he never complains.”

“That’d make you the _opposite_ of manly,” Mitsuki gripes.

Yamato grimaces but shrugs anyway. “I had that one coming.”

“At least you admit it.”

“I’m secure in my manliness and my personality,” Yamato says seriously. He lifts his hand off the wall—just for a split second—to place it against his chest, for a little extra emphasis on just how _serious_ he is. “So your insults mean nothing to me.”

“You’re gonna cry for an hour when we get home if I don’t apologize, aren’t you.”

“I’m gonna cry for an hour when we get home whether or not you apologize.”

Mitsuki rolls his eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I just like to be spoiled,” Yamato whines, slouching forward and then shouting out when he realizes that was a _horrible_ idea. He loses his balance and falls forward, face first into the ice. He lets go of Mitsuki in time to avoid taking him down with him, but because he wasn’t holding onto anything, he ends up on his ass next to him anyway.

“I’m never spoiling you again,” Mitsuki threatens, groaning loudly as he hisses against the pain of the massive bruise that’s already forming on his butt right now.

“But Mitsu, please,” Yamato begs.

“Apologize to my ass and maybe I’ll consider it.”

That was the absolute worst thing Mitsuki could have said, because Yamato’s eyes light up and a smirk curls his lips, chilling Mitsuki to the bone. Without another moment of hesitation he leans over, practically straddling Mitsuki, and runs his hand down Mitsuki’s hip, lightly enough that it doesn’t hurt, slowly enough that it makes Mitsuki’s breath come quicker and his muscles tense.

Yamato bends over and speaks into his waist. “I’m sorry, Mitsu’s ass. I’ve been so naughty. Please forgive me.”

His voice is low, and Mitsuki doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing the overly flirtatious, whiny, throaty voice Yamato uses, but it’s still too much to deal with, and he finds his face heating up and his heart pounding with every syllable that drips out of his mouth.

“Shut it!” Mitsuki says, shoving Yamato off of him in his embarrassment. “You’re so weird!”

Yamato blinks innocently, as if he wasn’t just making bedroom eyes at Mitsuki’s ass. “I was just doing what you told me to do.”

“I swear—”

There’s a presence approaching them, tall and intimidating, that shuts Mitsuki up. He prays that it’s not some stranger who happened to overhear every horrible, terrible word Yamato had said.

His heart levels out and he lets out a relieved sigh when he looks up and sees Nagi and Gaku looming over them, heads cocked to the side in mirrored expressions. “Oh, it’s just you guys.”

“What are you doing?” Gaku asks, peering down at them. Mitsuki’s suddenly _too_ aware that they’re still splayed out on the rink and that his hands are totally numb where they’re leaning on the ice to hold him up.

“I was a naughty boy, so Mitsuki had to punish me,” Yamato purrs, running his hand up Mitsuki’s side.

“We’re in public!” Even in a hushed voice, his urgent terror and repulsion is loud and echoing around them. “Save that for, you know, _home.”_

“Oh, Gaku, love knows no boundaries,” Nagi says with a smile, shaking his head as if totally resigned to the idea that Yamato and Mitsuki might have at it right here in the middle of an ice rink where there are at least a dozen other strangers watching them with curious eyes.

Mitsuki craves death. Or at least some normal boyfriends. “Gaku, you’re the only person I trust.”

Gaku raises his eyebrow skeptically. “Even though I laughed at you for not being able to skate?” he asks slowly.

“I’ll forgive you for that if you get this pervert off of me,” Mitsuki demands, gesturing with one red, frost-nipped hand toward Yamato.

Gaku sighs but obliges instantly, not wasting any time picking up Yamato with practiced elegance, somehow totally steady on his feet despite being on thin blades and a wet, slick slab of ice.

“I was just having fun,” Yamato complains, but he doesn’t look all that miffed anyway. “But thanks, I don’t think I could have gotten up on my own.”

Nagi giggles and reaches down to help Mitsuki up as well. He frowns, gripping his hands harder. “Oh! Mitsuki! I can feel how cold your hands are through my gloves.”

“So?” Mitsuki grumbles, not meeting his eyes. He refuses to admit it. He’s stubborn and pig-headed and he absolutely will not admit that he made a mistake by forgetting his gloves and not wearing a warmer jacket.

“Mitsuki,” Gaku says, and there’s absolutely no room to protest in his tone. “Take my jacket.”

“What?” Mitsuki flies backward into the wall behind him, startled by the sudden offer. But Gaku’s already taking off his coat, adamantly untying the belt at his waist and undoing the buttons without so much as waiting for a response. He shrugs it off and holds it out for him, staring straight into Mitsuki’s eyes with no hesitation. Mitsuki shakes his head anyway. “No, I can’t take your jacket. It’s cold in here!”

“Aha!” Nagi exclaims, pointing at Mitsuki as if he were accusing him of some criminal act. “You admit it! You’re cold!”

“I didn’t admit to anything!” Mitsuki insists even as he shivers.

“You’re going to die of frostbite, Mitsu,” Yamato scolds, and Mitsuki whips his head around to find that he, too, is taking off his jacket.

“That’s a pretty stupid thing to say, considering you’re offering up your jacket now, too!” Mitsuki exclaims, hands on his bruised hips.

“Take the jacket, Mitsuki,” Gaku commands.

“I’m not cold.”

“Take it.”

Mitsuki huffs but even for all his protesting, none of his boyfriends are listening to him at all. Is it because he’s short? They don’t respect him because they’re all goddamn skyscrapers? Is that it? It must be. There’s absolutely no other potential reason why they’d ignore him. It certainly can’t be because they _care_ about his _wellbeing._

He pouts when Gaku’s entire body envelops him and the coat is draped around his shoulders against his will, the heavy wool weighing him down. And yet it’s warm, and Mitsuki feels better already. Less like he’s on the brink of death, at least.

Gaku pulls away and there’s a small smile resting on his face, his cheeks bright pink as the cold air of the ice rink nips at his skin. He looks kind of silly with a scarf wrapped around his neck and no coat on, just a long-sleeved ugly sweater with bright red and blue diamonds patterning across his torso. “Do you feel warmer?”

Mitsuki doesn’t want to admit it—he swore he wouldn’t, after all—but he sighs anyway. “A little, yeah.”

Gaku’s smile grows brighter.

“Well now I feel like the bad boyfriend,” Yamato says, still holding onto his jacket. “Take mine, too.”

“And mine!” Nagi insists, already pulling off his coat with one hand and unwrapping his scarf with another. “I will not be defeated!”

“I—you guys, I don’t need them!” Mitsuki says. But he’s cornered on all sides with the wall of the rink pressing into his back. “You don’t have to—!”

Nagi and Yamato ignore him because of course they do. Yamato slips his coat over Mitsuki’s shoulders, patting his head lovingly before pulling away and gesturing for Nagi to do the same.

When he’s done being _manhandled,_ the other three look down on him to observe their work.

Mitsuki feels heavy under their gazes and the weight of the three winter coats precariously hanging off his shoulders, Nagi’s scarf wrapped messily around his head. He can hardly move with the layers of cotton and wool piled around his neck, but still, he can’t say that he’s not warmer.

He really should have just accepted the jackets to begin with.

“Oh, Mitsuki, you’re so cute!” Nagi gushes, lunging forward to gather him into a hug. It’s bone-crushing and full of sincere, overflowing adoration, and Mitsuki can’t help but melt into it, strike be damned.

“Don’t call me cute,” he protests anyway, just for the sake of protesting. He wiggles around a little, but gives up when he realizes he’s pretty much stuck. And besides, if Nagi let go now, he’d probably fall again.

“He’s only saying the truth,” Yamato says, putting a shaky arm around them both in an attempt at joining the hug without wiping out.

“You’re all cute,” Gaku says, the pink on his face just a tad brighter than what can be explained away by the cold. He settles himself into the hug by taking on the task of holding Yamato upright.

“One day I’m gonna be better at this than you,” Yamato gripes, a little pout on his lip. “Then you’ll be sorry.”

“I’d like to see that day,” Gaku retorts without missing a beat. “But I won’t get my hopes up.”

Yamato elbows Gaku in his side even if he can’t keep a reasonably believable frown on his face, his eyes much too bright and his face much too warm to give off any semblance of irritation.

Mitsuki shifts under the tangle of jackets and limbs. His body is heating up without any kind of air circulation and whatever chill he felt before has long been replaced by stifling warmth. “I can’t breathe.”

He wiggles a little more, trying his best to break free of his fleshy bonds, and then his stomach leaps into his throat as his ice skates fly out from underneath him, toppling him over and dragging the other three down with him.

They land with a loud, collective thud, one on top of the other like some horribly misshapen Jenga tower. There’s a chorus of groans and a few curses directed at him, and Mitsuki isn’t sure if he should laugh or apologize. Or both.

He clears his throat. “Uh…”

“Nagi, your face…” Yamato moans, and Mitsuki stretches so he can see that Nagi has ice shavings all over his face, a bright red mark framing his eye.

Nagi sniffs, and when he speaks, it comes out watery. “Please, don’t look at me.”

Gaku reaches out and pats his shoulder. “It’s just a bruise—”

“On my _face!”_ Nagi exclaims, his hands flying up to cover his eye. “Oh… my beautiful face…”

“You’re still beautiful,” Mitsuki tries, hoping that the compliment will save him from from whatever rampage Nagi is working himself into. And it’s not like he doesn’t mean it, after all.

“Oh, Mitsuki, you are too kind,” Nagi says, his uncovered eye tearful and glistening. “Do not think this gets you out of repercussions. You caused me to fall, after all.”

Mitsuki swallows.

“We all fell,” Gaku points out. “I’m gonna have a huge bruise on my arm tomorrow.”

Yamato grins, already used to the pain. “Yeah, Mitsu, how do you plan to make up for all this?”

“You want me to apologize to your ass, too?” Mitsuki shoots back as he pulls himself out from underneath them.

Gaku blinks. “What.”

“You should be apologizing to my _face!”_ Nagi says, removing the hand from his face long enough to push himself back up. He holds his hand out to Gaku to help him and mashes the other one back against his eye.

Mitsuki sighs and takes the hand Nagi offers him after Gaku is standing, then reaches up and gently peels away Nagi’s other hand.

The ice has melted and his hair is damp, his face shining in the glaring light above them. And there’s a huge, red, angry mark surrounding his eye, already puffy around his eyebrow and on his cheek. It’ll probably be black and blue before they get home, and then Mitsuki will have to deal with _two_ boyfriends crying for an hour.

And yet, Mitsuki still wasn’t lying. “Nagi, you’re beautiful,” he says around the hitch in his breath. Even with the mark on his face, he is. He’s ridiculous, silly, over the top, and obsessed with anime, but he’s beautiful, inside and out. And Mitsuki can’t stop looking.

“You’re staring, Mitsu,” Yamato says, poking him in the side.

“Cut it out, old man!” he shouts. “I’m allowed to stare at my boyfriend!”

Yamato smirks, slow and catlike. “Then I can stare at you too, right?”

Mitsuki hesitates. “W–well, I guess that’s what it means…”

Gaku leans in, resting his head on Nagi’s shoulder. He glances up at him, checking him over for injuries and frowning a little at the mark on his face. “It’ll bruise for sure, but it’s not like it changes how pretty you are.”

Nagi’s face splits into a smile, seemingly forgetting about the bruise. “You’re right, I’d forgotten that unparalleled beauty such as mine cannot be marred.”

Yamato chuckles. “That’s for sure.”

Mitsuki bends down and collects the coats from the pile on the ice where they’d landed when they all fell, shaking them out even though they’re all pretty much soaked through by now. He holds Nagi’s out toward him. “Here.”

Nagi makes a little sound that makes him sound kind of like a puppy dog. “Oh?”

“You fell, so you’re probably cold, right?” He holds the other coats out for Gaku and Yamato to take, but they both stand there dumbly, staring back at Mitsuki as if they’re confused.

“What do you mean?” Nagi asks, pushing off with one skate to twirl around on the ice. “Northmare is much colder than this. I could have worn a short-sleeved shirt and shorts if I wanted to.”

Mitsuki scrunches up his face. “Please don’t do that. I’ll get secondhand hypothermia.”

Nagi slides to a stop in front of him and bows elegantly, resting his hands over the fist that’s still holding Nagi’s coat. “Please, keep it. I want to keep you warm.” With that, he bends down and kisses Mitsuki’s hand like he’s some gentle maiden he’s trying to seduce and not his manly boyfriend he had already seduced three years ago.

Gaku clears his throat and appears behind Nagi, poking his head out over his shoulder. “Mine, too. Please wear mine.”

Yamato grabs his jacket from his still-outstretched arm and forces it back around Mitsuki, apparently not willing to take no for an answer. “Let your loving boyfriends dote on you sometimes, too. You spoil us enough.”

Heat prickles at his eyes and Mitsuki clenches his gut, refusing to let the tears fall. “Jeez, you guys… you’re a bunch of saps, you know that?”

But he takes the jackets and slides them on until he looks like a little orange oompa loompa with all the layers around him. It’s embarrassing for sure, to have five layers of clothing on, so thick he can barely move his arms, but it’s also kind of cute in a way. In a really weird, roundabout way, if he considers the fact that he’s wearing not one, but three of his boyfriends’ jackets and doesn’t think about how he must look, still wobbling along the ice as his jacketless boyfriends guide him around the rink.

Mitsuki thinks he could start to like being the spoiled one.

**Author's Note:**

> as always i have a twitter where i cry about matsuri [@polythagoras](http://twitter.com/polythagoras)


End file.
